"For a twelve-year-old boy," Mateo replied. "He lives in a children's home. It's his birthday."
Lucia stopped smiling.
—Do you help there?
-Sometimes.
She said nothing more. But her eyes changed. Lucía recognized that kind of silence. It was the silence of those who have lost too much.
That night, Mateo wrote to her.
“Did Fernanda bother you again?”
Lucia looked at the message from her small room, sitting next to a bowl of instant soup.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. People talk because they can. I work because I have to.”
Mateo gripped his phone angrily. In his private office, he opened the branch's security camera footage. He saw Fernanda ignoring customers, mocking Lucía, giving her extra work, hiding a commission, and speaking ill of her to the manager.
He saved the videos.
"They think they own my company," he muttered. "They forgot who signs the contracts."
On Sunday, Lucía went to a children's home in Coyoacán with notebooks and crayons for the children. When she entered the courtyard, she froze.
Mateo was sitting on a bench, talking to a boy with messy hair. The watch they had bought together gleamed on the little boy's wrist.
—Matthew?
He stood up, genuinely surprised.
—Lucía… I didn’t know you were coming here.
She sat down next to him.
—I grew up coming to this place. When my mother got sick, the nuns helped us with food.
Mateo lowered his gaze.
"I grew up here."
Lucia stared at him without blinking.
"My parents died when I was ten," he said. "Then my grandfather took care of me, but he died too. This house was all I ever had."
Lucia felt something inside her soften.
“My dad didn’t die,” she whispered. “I wish he had. He gambled, drank, and banged on the walls so my mom would cry silently. When I started college, I had to drop out to work. My mom died in debt to the hospital. I learned then that no one comes to save you.”
Mateo wanted to take her hand, but he didn't dare.
Lucía quickly wiped away a tear, as if she were angry that she had let it out.
—But that's over now. We're still here, right?
Then he ran off with the girls to teach them how to make paper flowers.
Mateo looked at her, his chest tight. It wasn't curiosity anymore. It wasn't guilt anymore.
He was in love.
But he also understood something terrible: the more he loved her, the more unforgivable his lie was.
And the next day he decided to reveal the truth, without imagining that that truth could destroy everything…
The watch shop was full when Mateo Herrera entered dressed in a custom-made dark gray suit.
The murmur died away immediately. Her polished shoes clicked onto the marble floor with a confidence that had nothing to do with the man in the old t-shirt who had walked in days before.
Fernanda saw it first.
"You again?" he said contemptuously. "Did you finally manage to borrow some clothes?"
Mateo didn't even look at her. He walked to the center of the store, took out a black folder, and spoke in a voice that made even the manager tremble.
—Good afternoon. I am Mateo Herrera, CEO and owner of Grupo Herrera.
The air went out.
Fernanda went white. Mariana looked down. The manager felt his shirt collar tighten.
Lucia dropped the cloth she was holding.
"Matthew?" she whispered.
He looked at her with a mixture of pride and fear.
—I came to this branch dressed as an ordinary man to see how they treated people when they thought they had no money. And I found two things: arrogance in those who should be serving, and dignity in those who never needed to put on a show.
He opened the folder.
"I have videos of mockery, discrimination, manipulated commissions, and workplace abuse. Fernanda, you're fired. Mariana, human resources will review your case. And you," she said to the manager, "are suspended for allowing it."
Fernanda started to cry.
—Mr. Herrera, I didn't know it was you.
"That's the problem," Mateo replied. "It didn't have to be me to deserve respect."
Then he turned towards Lucia.
—Lucía Ramírez will be promoted to senior consultant effective today. Her salary will triple. And she will have my direct support.
He hoped to see her happy. He hoped for relief, gratitude, perhaps a smile.
But Lucia was pale.
"Was it all a test?" he asked.
Mateo lost his smile.
—Not exactly. I wanted to know the truth.
See the rest on the next page.
"My truth or your power?" she said, her voice breaking. "You saw me crawling in the street looking for a wallet that was never lost. You let me tell you about my life in the orphanage while you hid the fact that you were my boss. And now you come here to reward me in front of everyone as if I were some kind of hero for your good deed of the month?"
—Lucía, I wanted to protect you.
—I don't need you to protect me by lying to me.
The entire store was listening.
"You didn't see me as a person," she continued. "You saw me as an answer to your question: 'Are there still good people?' And I wasn't born to prove humanity to a bored millionaire."
Mateo wanted to approach.
-I'm sorry.
-Me too.
Lucía took off her badge and left it on the counter.
—I need to go out.
Nobody dared to stop her.
That afternoon, Mateo waited for her in Parque México with a huge bouquet of red roses. He felt ridiculous, but desperate. When Lucía appeared, she was wearing a simple jacket and her eyes were tired.
—Lucía, please. Let me explain.
She looked at the flowers.
—Is this also part of your theater?
Mateo lowered the bouquet.
—No. I love you.
Lucía closed her eyes for a second, as if those words hurt her.
—Don't say that to fix what you broke.
—I can give you stability. I can help you with school, with rent, with whatever you need. You'll never have to worry about money again.
She let out a sad laugh.
"That's what you don't understand. I spent years building myself up so I wouldn't depend on anyone. I survived an abusive father, debt, funerals, jobs where I was treated as less than. And when someone finally looked at me without pity, it turned out they were also judging me."
Mateo felt that the flowers weighed like stones.
—I didn't mean to hurt you.
—But you did it.
Lucia took a deep breath.
—I'm going to resign. I won't accept the promotion. I don't want my future to depend on you.
—Lucía…
—If you ever speak to me again, let it be without disguises, without proof, and without trying to save me.
She walked away under the park lights. Mateo didn't follow her. For the first time, he understood that loving someone wasn't about giving them money, but about respecting the distance that person needed to heal.
Six months later, a small flower shop opened on a quiet corner of the Roma neighborhood.
See the rest on the next page.
Her name was Flores de Lucía.
It wasn't big or luxurious, but every detail bore her touch: painted flowerpots, colorful ribbons, bouquets of calla lilies, out-of-season marigolds, and roses wrapped in kraft paper. Lucía had opened it with her savings, a small loan, and countless sleepless nights.
The first month was difficult. The second was too. But the neighbors started recommending her. A woman bought flowers every Monday for her deceased husband. A young man asked for sunflowers to apologize to his girlfriend. A little girl came in every Friday for a single daisy for her teacher.
Lucía discovered that she didn't want to sell luxury. She wanted to sell gestures.
One morning, while arranging white lilies, she saw a black car park across the street.
Mateo went downstairs.
She wasn't wearing an imposing dress. Nor were there any giant roses. She was carrying a single, small, simple pot of bougainvillea, its leaves wet from the rain.
He stayed at the entrance, without invading.
—Hello, Lucia.
She looked at him for a long time.
—Hello, Mateo.
He carefully lifted the flowerpot.
—I didn't come to buy anything, sorry. I came to ask if this plant needs direct sun or shade. I was told that they treat even those who don't know anything well here.
Lucia tried not to smile, but she couldn't help it.
—It depends. If you take care of it patiently, it flourishes. If you try to control it too much, it dries up.
Mateo nodded, understanding that they weren't just talking about plants.
—Then I'll learn to take good care of her.
Lucía took the flowerpot and placed it on the counter.
—I can explain. But this time, without lies.
"No lies," he said.
The rain kept falling on Roma, washing away sidewalks, cars, and old wounds. There was no movie kiss, no eternal promise. Just two people standing face to face, for the first time on equal footing.
And sometimes, after so much pain, that is more powerful than any perfect ending.
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